


The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

by widovvmakers



Series: Gangsey cliches [4]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, Trc - Fandom
Genre: Cliche, M/M, Rain, church, kiss on the rain, mention of past abuse?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/widovvmakers/pseuds/widovvmakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kiss on the rain trope for the cliche challenge // Adam needs to get out of his room in St. Agnes, but Ronan wouldn't let him walk into the storm alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry it took me so long. It was a huge writer's block and I'm still trying to get past it. Thank you for your patience and I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think <3

Adam never liked the night. Nights meant dread, and suffocating and his father’s voice already making him flinch even before he felt his hand knocking him out. It meant anxiety and anger, bigger than anything he ever felt, as if just being near his father already made him more like him.

Now, nights meant climbing up the stairs to his apartment, kick off his battered boots and sit on his desk, getting his books off his bag and trying to get some homework done before he was too tired to even manage to keep his eyes open. Nights were peaceful now, a moment where the world was silent and not expecting anything of him. However, he still couldn’t quite like them. Or trust them. He could be growing fond of them, but Parrish and nights were still not _there_.

And this night was definitely not helping.

He didn’t know why in the world someone would decide to do a night mass, and he certainly didn’t know why in the world someone would decide to _attend_ one, but he did know the church was full and that the rain pouring down outside was brutal and he was _so tired_ and he couldn’t possibly focus with so much noise, but he _definitely_ couldn’t focus with the gigantic nothingness that he heard when he covered his right ear, and if only the mass would _start_ so people would respectfully _shut the fuck up_ he could maybe-

The thunder almost shook the building and Adam breathed through his teeth, impatience running through his body. The sound bothered him – it also bothered him that he _knew_ it should be bothering him even more, but his left ear kept telling him the world was completely silent.

Memories of that night flooded into him and he couldn’t help but close his hands into fists, staring blankly at the piece of paper in front of him. He remembered bracing for the blow. He remembered falling, he remember his father yelling at him. He remembered the look on his mother’s face. He remembered Ronan. _Ronan._

Suddenly, he couldn’t stand sitting on that chair anymore. He was up and out of his apartment in a matter of minutes, and when the rain hit him, it felt brutal.

His arms were bared and his t-shirt got quickly soaked while the drops hit every possible place of his body. His feet, covered in socks that already had a hole or two, sank on the muddy grass and he almost felt Cabeswater whispering to him.

The rain was brutal, but it was not cruel. The water didn’t hurt him and while it was cold, he felt way better than he did inside his apartment. He was walking without even noticing, taking himself across the ward, feeling the rain dripping down his neck, his pants clinging to his legs and enjoying the feeling of grass against his almost bare feet.

He walked and he thought of Ronan. Adam had been doing a lot of that lately. His shaved off hair struggling to grow back, his gigantic tattoo starting on the back of his neck, his smile that made it look as if he could eat him whole, but he wasn’t afraid of that.

He thought about that time when he spent almost a full minute swearing at him. He thought about all the times he laughed, head thrown back, not a care in the world. How he looks _alive_ when he’s racing. He thought about how every Sunday morning he goes to Church because of his brother. He thought about every fight they ever had, which weren’t really fights at all, but teasing.

He thought about the hand cream Ronan _dreamed up_ for him. About Ronan holding up a tiny mouse against his cheek to hear its heartbeat and about the horrible things he had to face in his dream. He thought about that valentine card he gave him that certainly didn’t have valentine written in it but it also didn’t have _friend_. He thought about his Latin, so much better than his. About his voice, so clear and polished, while Adam’s was raggedy and cut with the edges of an ugly strong accent.

He thought about how Ronan wasn’t even everything Adam wanted to be, because Adam could _never_ be what Ronan was.

If Ronan was the dreamer, Adam was the dream, the nightmare, the monster, dangerous and unknown, unable of the simplest things and able of the greatest damages.

The rain was pouring down on him but what filled his lungs with water was loneliness.

Ronan deserved _better_ than this broken and battered more wild than human boy. Adam had known this for his whole life. He wasn’t _good enough_. Not good enough for his father to love him, not good enough for his mother to fight back for him, not good enough for Blue to see him with different eyes. Why would Ronan?

“Parrish!”

He looked over his shoulder to the boy striding after him. If this was a love story, Adam would say- Adam would say that Ronan Lynch was lighthouse in the middle of the pouring rain, that just seeing him had lit up the middle of this depressing scene, the scene of a lonely strange boy with the rain dropping from his hair and onto his nose, with a church looming over him because God was probably too busy to do it, as if it was lighting strike, as if it was the sun pushing the rain away, as if it was fireworks, but this wasn’t a love story, this was a story about this lonely strange boy _still_ being a lonely strange boy, and Ronan seemed to almost to disappear in the dark scenario, the water making his dark clothes darker, his dark skin and black hood over his head didn’t helping it much, but still Adam saw him.

He stopped walking, but he was still thinking of Ronan.

“What is it, Lynch?” He yelled back, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, as if they were a dangerous thing to have free near the snake boy.

Ronan kept walking until he was in front of him, a couple inches taller, looming over him. Adam drank on his soaked features, the hard edges and despise it all, softness in hidden corners. His face wasn’t as wet as his, since Ronan had thought of grabbing a coat.

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, and Adam believed him, even though logic told him it was a lie. “Mass was boring.”

Adam looked around, as if the blurry world was more interesting than his face.

“Good day for a walk, uh?” He asked, and Adam could hear the smile on his voice. It was just too hard not to look back. He lifted the corners of his lips almost unknowingly, in the slow way he always did, as if he could take the smile back if he regretted it halfway through. But he let it form, a dimple forming on his cheek.

Adam didn’t know it, but this smile of his was becoming Ronan’s. Ronan noticed it, but didn’t acknowledge it. Because this wasn’t a love story. Because people like them didn’t _get_ love stories. Boys didn’t get love stories, not together, no.

“Better for mail.” Adam replied back, still talking loud to win the battle of sound with the rain, one of his eye partially closed after a particular big raindrop fell from his eyebrow, a sleazy smile playing on his lips because he just couldn’t quite _resist_ the idea of teasing Ronan.

Ronan stared at him, blinking through the rain and unsaid things. He softened his smile so he would know that though Adam was making fun of him, he wasn’t _making fun_ of him, and he trusted Ronan knew him well enough to know the difference.

He licked his lips, unclenching his jaw, taking off his hood as if they had just entered a safe, dry place and he didn’t need it anymore. But he stood on his feet, looking at Adam as if he was expecting the world but was too afraid to get it.

Adam didn’t know much about fairness, but he did know what wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair his dad was such a dirtbag, or that his mother supported him so strongly. It wasn’t fair that Noah would forever be a teenage boy, or that his parents had to bury a child. It wasn’t fair that Ronan could either have both of his parents or none at all.

And it wasn’t fair that Ronan gave him the hand cream and the valentine’s card and God be damned, even the ridiculous Murder Squash tape. But Adam could give him this.

Maybe it was the rain whispering him things, or it was the rain making him see things that weren’t there, or maybe it was the rain already deep in his bones making him do things he wouldn’t if they were dry and in the light. No, not maybe. It was _definitely_ the fault of this bastard, godforsaken rain.

Adam stepped forward and placed his lips against Ronan’s, placing his hands near his face but not touching, a small part of him still afraid he wouldn’t kiss him back, but he did. Pressing his tongue against his lips and sliding it into his mouth once he had the opening, grabbing at his hips with a desperation he knew very well, letting their teeth clank against each other. Ronan kissed with the same hard edges his face had, and Adam placed his hands around it, pulling him closer, the rain thundering inside and outside of him. Of them.

Ronan’s clothes were wet and sticky and he could still feel the streams that the rain made on his face, but Adam kept going, kissing him back harder, grabbing at the back of his neck, passing his fingers through the tiny hairs that Ronan wouldn’t let grow. Every time he pulled him closer, Ronan pulled him too, as if they competing to see who could make the space between them smaller and smaller.

He bit onto his lower lip and Adam melted onto himself, relishing on the feel of Ronan’s teeth. Through the dampness, he felt his hands on his clothes, their bodies against each other, and he felt like fire.

It took him some courage to let his hands wander lower, touching the places he knew his tattoo ran, afraid of hurting, destroying, as he was so used to do. He pressed on the small of his back once he was done, and he heard a small, weak moan from Ronan’s mouth, as if this was everything he dreamed of, everything he wanted. As if _Adam_ was everything he wanted.

The idea made his thought scatter, or maybe it was Ronan’s lips against the skin of his neck, his hand on the other side of it, cradling him, making him stay and Adam couldn’t help but lean his head into his hand, giving him more room to do whatever he wanted, his hand wandering on his back.

_This is not a love story_ , he thought to himself, while he kissed that dreamer boy in the shadow of a looming church, on a rain so thick that if God didn’t support it and was watching, not even He could see them.

_But it could be._


End file.
